10:15 AM the next day

Forty Five minutes until the meeting and I was yet to dress up. I was forced to bath but I needed more time to regain control of myself before I put on that dress.

It's my favorite color, a shiny blue silk slip ankle length dress with cowl neck.

But it didn't stop the helpless feeling.

10:22

I finally pulled myself together and slipped into the dress. It only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I applied just enough makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes, not wanting to look as tired as I felt. Then, I grabbed my bag.

As I headed downstairs, I couldn't stop the silent prayer running through my mind. Even though I knew just how wrong it was, but is it bad that I wanted Luca Caruso to find out about the switch and back out. But at the same time, a part of me wished he wouldn't. My mother's life hung in the balance, and I knew my father wouldn't hesitate to cut off her life support if this marriage didn't happen. He had made that clear. Pretty clear.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my father was waiting. He glanced at me, checking his watch before eyeing me up and down. "Why did you take so long?" he asked, but before I could answer, he smirked and added, "Trying to look good for your future husband, I suppose."

The wave of disgust hit me, but I swallowed it down. I said nothing, just stood there as he looked me over, assessing me like I was something he owned.

Once he was done, he nodded, satisfied. "The driver will take you. I won't have you running off like your sister, though I doubt you would."

I nodded, forcing the words out. "Yes, Father."

Without another word, I walked outside to the waiting car. The driver opened the door for me, the car spotless, unnervingly polished-just like the life I was being forced into. I got in, knowing there was no turning back.

As soon as the car pulled out of the driveway and the gates creaked shut behind us, I felt the pain in my chest tighten even further. My hand immediately found my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I scrolled through recent calls. There it was-the number from St. Francis Hospital. Yesterday's call echoed in my head, the cold, matter-of-fact tone of the hospital administrator who had reminded me that time was running out.

I glanced toward the driver. He kept his eyes on the road, silent, not giving me a second thought. They all didn't. I took a deep breath and pressed the call button, bringing the phone up to my ear. The ringing felt like it lasted forever.

"St. Francis Hospital, how may I assist you?"

"Hi, this is Valentina De Luca," I said, my voice low. Afraid they might drop a bad news before I tell them the reason I called. Horrible feeling. "I spoke with someone yesterday about my mother's treatment. Is there any way you can connect me to the person handling her case?"

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Yes, Ms. De Luca. I remember your call. Have you had a chance to discuss the payment situation with your father?"

I pressed my lips together, staring out of the car window as we drove farther away from home. "Yes," I lied smoothly. "He's available now. I need you to call him right away. He's ready to handle the financial discussions."

There was a slight hesitation, as if the receptionist wasn't sure whether to believe me, but then she said, "I understand. I'll notify the financial department immediately and make sure they contact your father now. Is there anything else you need?"

I gripped the phone tighter, feeling my heart race. "No, just make sure you call him now. He's expecting it, and I need this settled as soon as possible."

"I understand, Ms. De Luca. We'll take care of it. Thank you for calling."

I ended the call, my thumb lingering over the screen for a second longer than necessary. A slow, uneasy breath left me as I lowered the phone onto my lap, staring out at the passing streets that blurred into one another. The hospital would call him. They had to. I'd done all I could to push this along-now, the rest was out of my hands.

But what if he refused? What if, after all this, he decided to pull the plug, to punish me for whatever twisted reasons fueled his cruelty? The thought of it made me feel sick, my stomach churning at the idea that my mother's life was hanging in the balance of my father's whims.

I let out a slow shaky breath, feeling the helplessness wash over me. At least for the moment, I had done what I could.

We made a deal. He better keep his own end of it.

The car suddenly slowed. Traffic. I thanked the heavens for it, my shoulders sagging with relief. If we got stuck long enough, we might even be late to the meeting.

Part of me knew I shouldn't feel that way. I should've been worried about the consequences, about the look on my father's face if we arrived late and Mr Luca Caruso angrily calls him. But I couldn't help it-the delay was a pause in the nightmare that awaited me.

I sat back in my seat, exhaling softly, allowing myself to enjoy the moment of reprieve. But then, I felt the car shift. The driver, without a word, swerved and took a sharp turn onto a different road. My heart sank.

I didn't need to ask. I knew this was no random detour. He must've gotten orders from my father, probably before we even left the house. There would be no escaping this, no extra time to stall. Of course, my father had planned for this. He always did.

I let out a quiet sigh and stared out at the unfamiliar streets we followed. The relief that had briefly settled in my chest faded away. I didn't say anything. There was no point. The driver was just doing his job, just like everyone else under my father's thumb.

I clasped my hands in my lap and turned my gaze back to the road ahead. The meeting would happen, on time. There was no avoiding it. I know.

The car finally pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, an open space lined with luxury cars that gleamed under the soft evening light. My heart thudded in my chest as I glanced at the restaurant. It was an outdoor Michelin-starred place, every inch of it oozing exclusivity. The restaurant itself was a combination of sleek modern architecture and elegant, soft lighting that made the space seem more intimate, despite its grandeur. Tables were arranged with precision, each one set with sparkling glassware and expensive table settings. Even from the parking lot, I could see how meticulous it all was-every detail perfected, like the guests who frequented it.

The engine came to a stop, and the driver promptly got out, circling to my side. He opened the door with a silent bow, and I took a deep breath before stepping out. The moment my feet touched the ground, I had to hold myself not to panic and hail a cab out of here.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the black invitation card-the only way to get into a place like this. I glanced at the table number printed in elegant script before moving aside so the driver could close the door.

"I'll be waiting here in case you finish early," he said, bowing slightly.

I nodded. "Thank you," I murmured, feeling my pulse quicken again. With another deep breath, I turned and made my way to the restaurant's entrance. The security guard stationed there eyed me for a moment before I handed him the card. His gaze flickered across the details, and then he asked, "Who are you here to meet?"

"Mr. Luca Caruso," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady despite the storm of nerves beneath it.

His expression shifted instantly. With a quick nod, he returned the card and bowed slightly as he stepped aside. "Go ahead, Miss."

I nodded back, a small respectful gesture I could give. I wasn't surprised. Luca Caruso's name carried more than just influence. It carried fear. This was the man Alecia had run from, the man whose very name could silence rooms and make people tremble. Everyone knew who he is. He was the same reason why Alecia escaped with *her* lover.

I sighed and stepped inside, handing the card to one of the waitresses. She nearly dropped the tray she was holding before scurrying off to fetch another attendant. Within seconds, she returned, breathless but composed. "Please, follow me."

She led me past the restaurant's main area and out to the back. As soon as we stepped outside again, I froze in awe. A low garden of flowers stretched before me, meticulously arranged, and illuminated by hidden lights that made the petals glow softly in the morning air. There was even a small pool, the water still and reflecting the sun. It felt like stepping into another world, one that was quiet, private, and unnervingly beautiful.

The waitress led me to the short set of stairs at the entrance. Two guards standing rigid on either side. Their expressions were unreadable, but their presence alone made my stomach tighten with unease. The waitress paused briefly. "He's in, I'll have to leave now," she said, not looking me in the eye before rushing away without waiting for a response.

I took a deep breath, gathering myself, and walked up to one of the guards. His eyes met mine, hard and cold, like he could crush me with a glance. I forced my voice to remain calm.

"I'm here to see Mr. Caruso," I said.

He looked me over, his eyes narrowing as if assessing every inch of me. "Who are you?" he asked in a tone that was more command than question.

"Valentina De Luca," I answered. "I'm a De Luca. He knows of my coming"

At that, he nodded, though his face remained impassive. "Wait here," he said before turning and climbing the small stairs, disappearing into the open space. I could just make out the roofed area ahead, its wide entrance open to the garden, where the second guard and I stood in silence.

I took another deep breath, my hands trembling slightly as I clutched my bag. I muttered to myself under my breath.

It's just one year. One year and I'll be out of this.

But even as I said it, I wondered how long a year would feel under the weight of a contract like this one.

As I stood there, I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander. I tried to imagine what life would be like once I was living with Luca Caruso, the man I'd heard so many whispers about but had never seen. The contract hadn't mentioned his age, but I'd made my own assumptions. From the rumors, the terrifying stories, and the way people talked about him, I had to believe he was old.

He had to be.

Men like him-men who arranged marriages through contracts, with power and money on the line-were never young. In movies, in rumors, it was always some older man with too much influence and not enough warmth, someone looking for a wife for reasons I couldn't even begin to guess. Maybe heirs, maybe control. Either way, I had been preparing myself for the worst: a life beside a man far older than me, one who saw me as just another piece in his business empire.

I stared at the polished stone floor beneath my feet, trying to suppress the growing dread that twisted in my stomach. Could I really live like that? Could I endure a year tied to someone who saw me as nothing more than a means to an end?

Before I could sink any deeper into the thought, the guard returned. His expression was the same as before-cold and unfeeling-and his voice didn't calm my anxiety.

"You can go in now," he said.

I swallowed hard, straightened my dress, and stepped forward, my heart pounding. But the moment I stepped inside, and walked to the figure near the table for two. The man standing there on call, was not at all who I was expecting.

He was definitely not the man I'd prepared myself for.

I climbed the stairs slowly, losing my will to live with each step. My legs felt like they might give out beneath me, but I kept going. This was it. No turning back now. I reached the top and stepped into the open space, my eyes scanning the area. It was quiet, the soft chirping of the birds from the garden blew across the room. But the air felt heavy, like the whole place was holding its breath.

I was looking for him. The man I was supposed to marry. Replaying the image I've created of him in my head, the image I built up over time: an old man, maybe with silver hair, wrinkles that hinted at his age and the life he'd led. Someone cold, distant, who would see me as little more than a transaction or sex slave. I had prepared myself for that, for the worst-case scenario.

But then, I heard him.

A voice. Low, deep, and unmistakably angry. He was talking to someone on the phone, he sounded sharp and irritated, but there was something about the way he spoke that immediately threw me off. That voice didn't sound old. It was commanding, sure, but there was youth in it-an intensity that made my stomach tighten.

I turned my head, searching, and then I saw him.

He was standing in the corner, by a window overlooking the garden. His back was to me, and he hadn't noticed me yet. His head tilted slightly, one hand resting on the window, and earpods in his ears. His hair-god, his hair-wasn't gray or thinning like I'd imagined. It was jet black, thick, and so shiny it almost looked unreal, like he'd just stepped out of some magazine shoot.

I stood there for a moment, just staring. This wasn't Luca Caruso. It couldn't be. He didn't fit anything I'd been told or what I thought I knew. My mind raced as I tried to reconcile the image I'd held in my head with the man sitting just a few feet away from me.

Where was the older man, the one who would match the rumors and thoughs? I scanned the room again, expecting to see someone else-someone older, someone who looked like they belonged in a contract marriage. But no one else was there.

I shifted my weight, trying to make sense of it all. My nerves were all over the place, a mix of confusion and doubt swirling in my chest. I was prepared to meet a man I could tolerate for a year, but the broad shoulders in front of me, the confidence in the way he stood-none of this made sense.

I waited for his voice to change, for him to sound tired or strained with age, but it never came. He sounded like he was about to finish his call with a calm, almost casual tone, and I knew I couldn't just stand there any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I cleared my throat softly, just enough to let him know I was there.

He turned around slowly, still on the phone, his voice was low now, the anger from earlier fading into something more controlled. But I didn't hear the words anymore. The moment he faced me, the world seemed to narrow down to just him, as if everything else faded into the background.

I wasn't prepared for this.

His eyes were the first thing I noticed-sharp, intense, and such a shade of blue they almost looked like an ocean. They held a kind of quiet power, like he was used to being in control without having to say much, and like having visitors right now was not on his plans. They locked onto mine for a moment, and I felt my breath hitch. I couldn't look away.

He wasn't just handsome. That word didn't feel strong enough. He was beautiful, in a way that made my mind go blank. His face was all sharp angles-defined jawline, high cheekbones, the kind of face that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover, not in some dark deal for a contract marriage. His skin was tan, like he spent time in the sun but didn't care much about it. His hair, still so dark and glossy, fell over his forehead just slightly, giving him an almost casual, effortless look.

I stood there, completely lost in him. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. I wasn't supposed to feel like this. I wasn't supposed to be staring at him like I was. But I couldn't help it. Everything about him was magnetic, pulling me in without even trying.

He shifted, still talking into his earpod, his voice a soft murmur now. But his eyes hadn't left mine. There was something there-curiosity maybe, or just awareness. I couldn't tell. All I knew was that this man, the one standing in front of me, was nothing like the version of Luca Caruso I had built in my head.

Where was the older man with graying hair, someone cold and distant who would tolerate me for a year and nothing more? Where was the man who fit the stories of danger and old money, the one people called fat fool when the news of his evil reached them? This wasn't him. This couldn't be him.

I felt my pulse race, my throat dry. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. The way he looked at me, like he was sizing me up, reading me in a way I couldn't even understand-it made me feel small, vulnerable, but at the same time, something deeper, something warmer.

I had braced myself for someone else entirely. Someone who wouldn't stir this kind of reaction in me. But this man, Luca Caruso... he was a storm I hadn't anticipated.

This, again, was totally, definitely, absolutely not who I was expecting to see. Not the man I thought would ick me and make me throw up.